I'm at Singapore's flashy Changi Airport (free wireless!) waiting for my flight home. It's on one of the new Airbuses so I'm geekily excited about that, and I managed to get an aisle seat with leg room to save my leg from going dead like it did on the way here.
Singapore was fun, though exhausting. It is boiling hot here and very humid, making it a bit uncomfortable. Also I had to trek round in flip-flops/jandals as I haven't yet replaced my trainers, which were on top of the deckhouse roof and accordingly went overboard when we got hit by the wave. Not the best footwear for a whole day! Anyway I managed to see the national museum, do a spot of shopping on Orchard Road, and see Little India, Chinatown, the colonial district and Raffles, and of course the Arab/Malay district where I was staying, as well as catch up with my friend Lauren who I used to row with in the UK. It rained yesterday which took some of the humidity away but made it harder to take photos!
It's a very multicultural sort of place, though the cultures are dominated by Chinese and even Little India was ringed by Chinese shops and people. Everything's very colourful and busy and smelly - the smells of various different foods, medicines, that sort of thing. Chinatown is quite touristy and there's a lot of hassle from stallholders as you walk by (hint, photo people, if I'm carrying a digital SLR I probably already have a spare battery ...) I was extremely annoyed to have to fork out $50 for breaking a lacquer boat thing in one shop - backed into it with my bag and it went flying. I don't know why I couldn't have broken something small and cheap!
Anyway, duty free calls so I'd better get moving. Next stop, Heathrow.
Thursday 25 June 2009
Monday 22 June 2009
Onwards!
Time in the Cooks at an end - a lovely relaxing ten days. At the airport now; plane to Auckland then on to Singapore. :) Home on Thursday though.
Saturday 13 June 2009
Made it!
Well, I'm in Rarotonga at last - after a pretty horrible flight actually. We had some nasty turbulence and all the while I was looking down at a nice Force 6/7 sea below and thinking it was perfect sailing weather. I normally don't have too much of a problem with turbulence but yesterday it was pretty unpleasant. However I slept like a log, it's warm, and I'm off to Aitutaki this afternoon for five nights and doing nothing.
I just wish the ship and her crew were here too.
I just wish the ship and her crew were here too.
Wednesday 10 June 2009
The Wave
None of us actually saw the wave that ended the Søren Larsen's voyage to Rarotonga. Those of us on watch, standing aft by the helm, had automatically looked away when the helmsman Boris remarked “wave coming”. Those in the deckhouse were preparing breakfast and those below were asleep, or catching a few more minutes in the warmth of their bunks.
So the first we knew of the devastation that a few seconds and several tonnes of water had caused was the loud cracking noise, swiftly followed by the sight of various bits of fruit and wood floating by. I noticed a jacket with a bright orange hood, but couldn't see anyone in or close by the jacket. Then we looked forward.
The deckhouse, where the galley was situated, a cosy little shelter against the elements, had all but disappeared. In its place was wreckage. Over by the port shrouds Dave, the newly-recruited second cook, was hanging on to a rope looking shaken. The engineer was covered in blood, Paul the cook was clutching a beam above his head, white as a sheet, and volunteer crew member Andrew was staggering around at the top of the companionway.
My watch hurried forward. We persuaded Jarren the engineer to go aft and get below, and Dave to follow him. Andrew had disappeared down the companionway and purser Amanda was looking up, shock all over her face. The mate, Nic, began calling orders – get the main companionway covered, get lifejackets, tell the captain, get everyone awake and in the port saloon. We tried to get Paul to go below but he kept clinging on to his beam, apparently unable or unwilling to move.
About this time I realised that not only had we lost the deckhouse, but the whole midships section of the starboard rail had vanished. Instead of a comforting wooden bulwark between us and the raw power of the Pacific, there was just slippery deck. I got myself over to the companionway and started helping with the hatch cover. Two of the deckhands, Hannah and Heather, appeared on deck with lifejackets, and shortly afterwards the ship's carpenter Rusty arrived with hammer and nails and we got the covers on.
I went aft after that to find out what should happen next. Amanda came on deck doing a muster – the bo'sun, Cubie, was unaccounted for and I remember looking with horror into the waves and wondering if she had been in the deckhouse when the wave hit. None of the debris was to be seen; we'd already sailed on past it and past any hope for someone swept overboard. Luckily Cubie was shortly found forwards. Voyage crew member Neal pointed out that the gas seemed to be on in the galley, so Nic darted forwards into the wreckage to turn it off. Captain Jim was on deck, calm as he surveyed the scene. Nic called me forward again to hang on to the ropes that had been attached to a destroyed pinrail, while she went further forward to find out what the damage was there. One of the doors on the forward hatch had been torn off, so she and Cubie sealed the hatch with more plywood.
We shifted the mainsail over to turn around and begin heading back towards New Zealand and our hopes of rescue. I got a lifejacket on, and together with deckhand Kent went to fetch more lifejackets from the locker, on top of the deckhouse roof. We got spares, too many to carry, and I never found out if anyone went back for those extra lifejackets or if they went overboard.
The next job was to clear the deck of debris, lash down things that we could use, and throw food and personal items sloshing around on deck into the food net below the deckhouse roof. At the same time we had to get the manual bilge pump (fondly known as Divine Brown for the colour of the water it throws out, or alternatively The Gusher) going. That involved people pumping and someone holding the valve down to keep it primed.
About this time someone pointed out there was smoke rising from the main hatch, just aft of where the deckhouse had stood. Luckily the second mate Ally was below with a radio and a fire extinguisher dealing with it – a small electrical fire in the ship's larder, Botany Bay.
All the while Rusty and Ben the chippies were using bits of debris to cover up places where water was getting in below – mainly where the timberheads, vertical supports along the ship's side, had been torn off.
The biggest job with regards to getting rid of the debris was shifting the aft wall of the deckhouse into the sea. The wall had landed half across the main hatch, all in one piece including the door, so Kent sawed through the frame above the door to make it more manageable and a bunch of people hefted it over the hatch and over the side.
After that the biggest job was really keeping the pump going. On the starboard side, clipped on safely, was a queue of people waiting to take their turn, 50 pumps each. On the port side, also clipped on, was me with a bucket and Ben with a sea bucket, trying to keep the pump primed. Reasonably early in this effort came the sound of an aeroplane from above – the New Zealand air force's Orion, diverting from a flight to Samoa to check us out. It was incredibly good to see the Orion and know that someone was keeping an eye on us.
Mid-morning Nic came around and told all of us to go below and collect any personal belongings we might want to take with us if we had to leave the ship. The request brought the possibility of abandoning ship rather close. Down below the power had been cut due to the fire, and water was sloshing from side to side as I slipped and slid down the saloon to my cabin. The question of what to take was a tricky one – in the end I grabbed my camera and computer bag, already packed, threw in travel documents, my wallet, and my battered old teddy bear that's travelling home with me. Then I slipped and slid all the way back aft and went back to the pump.
It was also about mid-morning that we sighted the MV Tarago, a cargo ship operated by the Norwegian company Wilhemsen Line. The Tarago was en route to Auckland and diverted to escort us; they stuck by us all day, all night and most of the next day until a police launch arrived to take over. The massive bulk was a very welcome sight on the horizon, particularly while the weather remained heavy. During the morning there was also a pod of whales swimming about in our wake; normally I'd have been thrilled but there were other things to worry about!
A little later on I managed to cut my finger on something after a slide across the deck, which by now was covered in oil from the bilge. I swapped places with Cubie and went to find a bandage, and afterwards had a short sit down and a breather. I wasn't sure how much longer the adrenalin rush would last and, having been up since 3.40am anyway, was pretty knackered.
At 11.30am Nic drew up two groups of five people and told us to pump half an hour on, half an hour off, which at least gave us the chance to sit in the relative warmth of the navigation room and eat something. Paul, assisted by Andrew, had retrieved some wraps, tuna, mayonnaise and cheese from the larder and we all munched our way through wraps and chocolate (a seriously large amount of chocolate got eaten that day and the next). I wasn't actually that hungry, but felt I ought to eat something.
As the pumping shifts went on the deckhouse became creakier and creakier. The starboard side had semi-collapsed when the wave hit, but we were expecting the port side to go at any moment. Piers, the captain due to relieve Jim in Rarotonga, and Cubie cut the seizing that linked the aft davits – metal supports for lifting things – to the mainmast shrouds. If the deckhouse collapsed we didn't want it taking the mast with it. By about 2pm the creaking was bad enough that Jim pulled us off the pumping. We all crowded in the navigation room and Jim gave us an update on the situation: a helicopter was on its way with extra, powerful pumps for us and we should stay out of the way unless needed for the helicopter operation.
The chippies were detailed to go and reinforce the main companionway and forward hatches from the inside, and rig a tarpaulin under the main hatch in case the deckhouse came in and caused the main hatch to give way or for the glass to break. I had no job for the time being, so curled up in a corner in Jim's cabin and tried to get warm. I was soaked to the skin (as was everyone) but there didn't seem any point in getting out of wet weather gear quite yet. The helicopter arrived and deposited its load with several loud thuds on the deck above my head. Others joined me in Jim's cabin and, snuggled damply together with lifejackets as pillows, we tried to get some sleep.
I succeeded and woke about an hour later to find Nic organising people to set the lower topsail and setting four three-hour watches for the rest of the trip. I went up on deck, but there were enough people and I was frozen, so ended up going to my bunk, taking off wet things, and falling asleep properly.
By the time I went on watch at midnight the weather had begun to calm a little, but it was freezing cold. The bilge pumps helicoptered in had worked a treat, but had been turned off for the night, so we got to stay warm with a couple of short stints on Divine Brown again. Then back to bed.
I woke about 10am the next morning to a much more cheerful ship. Everyone had slept, the chippies were constructing a makeshift galley on deck out of the pitch pot and its small gas canister, the sea was significantly calmer, and Nic and Cubie had retrieved the kettles from the ruins of the galley. Best of all, the kettles worked, so we all had hot drinks followed later by hot food – wraps again, this time with scrambled eggs and tinned spaghetti. It was sunny and warmer and we were actually sailing home.
Had a bit more sleep after watch, but not quite enough – I got up on the call of “food”, only to get caught out passing tin plates of curried fish and couscous to others and having to wait 45 minutes for my portion. Slightly annoying, but my own fault and I really shouldn't have been so grumpy about it. The police launch had arrived by this point and was following off the starboard quarter. Nic was still giggling about their request on arrival that we make sure everyone knew how to use our lifesaving equipment – given that we'd spent most of the previous day in lifejackets it was really a superfluous thing to say.
When we were woken for the night watch it was dead calm. The 9-12 watch had taken in the sails once the wind had died. Despite both the middle and main staysails having small tears in them they had survived the whole trip magnificently. The bilge didn't need pumping and we were keeping a watch forward again. I was able to call my parents at about 2.30am as we approached Whangarei Heads to reassure them everything was okay.
The anchor was dropped early the next morning in the river near the dockyard in Whangarei, and the plywood sealing the forward companionway was taken off with much hammering. The cooks had done a big pan of sausages and rescued some oranges and pineapples, and we feasted in the morning sun while waiting for the Customs man to arrive. In the meantime the boat was launched. Nic drove off and came back with the Customs man, Søren's owners Steve and Rosie, Jim's wife Terri and a long-time friend of the ship, Miranda. We all felt enormously sorry for Steve and Rosie as they sighted the damage for the first time and there were hugs and a few tears as the newcomers came aboard.
While the Customs man did his thing we all got a tour of the outside of the ship from the boat. It was sobering to see the damage, and there was renewed relief that we'd all made it. We went ashore after Customs had left, for a wonderful brunch in a Whangarei café, savouring the coffee and good food. Later on we moved Søren upriver, back to the berth she had recently left after refit, her home until she's ready to leave again.
We were initially very lucky for the wave to hit how and when it did, causing no damage below the waterline and early enough for very few people to be in the deckhouse. The early hour also meant we had the whole day to stabilise the situation. However that everything else went so calmly and smoothly is due to Jim, Nic, and the rest of the crew. Jim led from the front – at the helm for hours, and later on cleaning the heads – and was utterly unflappable throughout. His calmness was passed on down and though I think we were all scared at least some of the time, we all knew what was going on, and we worked together to make sure we were all safe. It wasn't an experience I care to repeat but it's one I'll definitely remember.
Søren's now set for several months of repair in Whangarei, but the shipwrights are talking positively of getting her back to rights. I've hung around for the week, which has been mostly spent cleaning and getting food and other stuff off the ship for storage. We also took down the square sails and all the staysails except the upper staysail – some need repairing and the squares need safe storage. Demolition of the deckhouse began today and there's not much left now. Meanwhile the crew is dissipating, and a whole bunch of people left this morning. It's not the ending we all wanted.
Pictures are on Flickr as usual and I'll be adding more videos tomorrow hopefully.
So the first we knew of the devastation that a few seconds and several tonnes of water had caused was the loud cracking noise, swiftly followed by the sight of various bits of fruit and wood floating by. I noticed a jacket with a bright orange hood, but couldn't see anyone in or close by the jacket. Then we looked forward.
The deckhouse, where the galley was situated, a cosy little shelter against the elements, had all but disappeared. In its place was wreckage. Over by the port shrouds Dave, the newly-recruited second cook, was hanging on to a rope looking shaken. The engineer was covered in blood, Paul the cook was clutching a beam above his head, white as a sheet, and volunteer crew member Andrew was staggering around at the top of the companionway.
My watch hurried forward. We persuaded Jarren the engineer to go aft and get below, and Dave to follow him. Andrew had disappeared down the companionway and purser Amanda was looking up, shock all over her face. The mate, Nic, began calling orders – get the main companionway covered, get lifejackets, tell the captain, get everyone awake and in the port saloon. We tried to get Paul to go below but he kept clinging on to his beam, apparently unable or unwilling to move.
About this time I realised that not only had we lost the deckhouse, but the whole midships section of the starboard rail had vanished. Instead of a comforting wooden bulwark between us and the raw power of the Pacific, there was just slippery deck. I got myself over to the companionway and started helping with the hatch cover. Two of the deckhands, Hannah and Heather, appeared on deck with lifejackets, and shortly afterwards the ship's carpenter Rusty arrived with hammer and nails and we got the covers on.
I went aft after that to find out what should happen next. Amanda came on deck doing a muster – the bo'sun, Cubie, was unaccounted for and I remember looking with horror into the waves and wondering if she had been in the deckhouse when the wave hit. None of the debris was to be seen; we'd already sailed on past it and past any hope for someone swept overboard. Luckily Cubie was shortly found forwards. Voyage crew member Neal pointed out that the gas seemed to be on in the galley, so Nic darted forwards into the wreckage to turn it off. Captain Jim was on deck, calm as he surveyed the scene. Nic called me forward again to hang on to the ropes that had been attached to a destroyed pinrail, while she went further forward to find out what the damage was there. One of the doors on the forward hatch had been torn off, so she and Cubie sealed the hatch with more plywood.
We shifted the mainsail over to turn around and begin heading back towards New Zealand and our hopes of rescue. I got a lifejacket on, and together with deckhand Kent went to fetch more lifejackets from the locker, on top of the deckhouse roof. We got spares, too many to carry, and I never found out if anyone went back for those extra lifejackets or if they went overboard.
The next job was to clear the deck of debris, lash down things that we could use, and throw food and personal items sloshing around on deck into the food net below the deckhouse roof. At the same time we had to get the manual bilge pump (fondly known as Divine Brown for the colour of the water it throws out, or alternatively The Gusher) going. That involved people pumping and someone holding the valve down to keep it primed.
About this time someone pointed out there was smoke rising from the main hatch, just aft of where the deckhouse had stood. Luckily the second mate Ally was below with a radio and a fire extinguisher dealing with it – a small electrical fire in the ship's larder, Botany Bay.
All the while Rusty and Ben the chippies were using bits of debris to cover up places where water was getting in below – mainly where the timberheads, vertical supports along the ship's side, had been torn off.
The biggest job with regards to getting rid of the debris was shifting the aft wall of the deckhouse into the sea. The wall had landed half across the main hatch, all in one piece including the door, so Kent sawed through the frame above the door to make it more manageable and a bunch of people hefted it over the hatch and over the side.
After that the biggest job was really keeping the pump going. On the starboard side, clipped on safely, was a queue of people waiting to take their turn, 50 pumps each. On the port side, also clipped on, was me with a bucket and Ben with a sea bucket, trying to keep the pump primed. Reasonably early in this effort came the sound of an aeroplane from above – the New Zealand air force's Orion, diverting from a flight to Samoa to check us out. It was incredibly good to see the Orion and know that someone was keeping an eye on us.
Mid-morning Nic came around and told all of us to go below and collect any personal belongings we might want to take with us if we had to leave the ship. The request brought the possibility of abandoning ship rather close. Down below the power had been cut due to the fire, and water was sloshing from side to side as I slipped and slid down the saloon to my cabin. The question of what to take was a tricky one – in the end I grabbed my camera and computer bag, already packed, threw in travel documents, my wallet, and my battered old teddy bear that's travelling home with me. Then I slipped and slid all the way back aft and went back to the pump.
It was also about mid-morning that we sighted the MV Tarago, a cargo ship operated by the Norwegian company Wilhemsen Line. The Tarago was en route to Auckland and diverted to escort us; they stuck by us all day, all night and most of the next day until a police launch arrived to take over. The massive bulk was a very welcome sight on the horizon, particularly while the weather remained heavy. During the morning there was also a pod of whales swimming about in our wake; normally I'd have been thrilled but there were other things to worry about!
A little later on I managed to cut my finger on something after a slide across the deck, which by now was covered in oil from the bilge. I swapped places with Cubie and went to find a bandage, and afterwards had a short sit down and a breather. I wasn't sure how much longer the adrenalin rush would last and, having been up since 3.40am anyway, was pretty knackered.
At 11.30am Nic drew up two groups of five people and told us to pump half an hour on, half an hour off, which at least gave us the chance to sit in the relative warmth of the navigation room and eat something. Paul, assisted by Andrew, had retrieved some wraps, tuna, mayonnaise and cheese from the larder and we all munched our way through wraps and chocolate (a seriously large amount of chocolate got eaten that day and the next). I wasn't actually that hungry, but felt I ought to eat something.
As the pumping shifts went on the deckhouse became creakier and creakier. The starboard side had semi-collapsed when the wave hit, but we were expecting the port side to go at any moment. Piers, the captain due to relieve Jim in Rarotonga, and Cubie cut the seizing that linked the aft davits – metal supports for lifting things – to the mainmast shrouds. If the deckhouse collapsed we didn't want it taking the mast with it. By about 2pm the creaking was bad enough that Jim pulled us off the pumping. We all crowded in the navigation room and Jim gave us an update on the situation: a helicopter was on its way with extra, powerful pumps for us and we should stay out of the way unless needed for the helicopter operation.
The chippies were detailed to go and reinforce the main companionway and forward hatches from the inside, and rig a tarpaulin under the main hatch in case the deckhouse came in and caused the main hatch to give way or for the glass to break. I had no job for the time being, so curled up in a corner in Jim's cabin and tried to get warm. I was soaked to the skin (as was everyone) but there didn't seem any point in getting out of wet weather gear quite yet. The helicopter arrived and deposited its load with several loud thuds on the deck above my head. Others joined me in Jim's cabin and, snuggled damply together with lifejackets as pillows, we tried to get some sleep.
I succeeded and woke about an hour later to find Nic organising people to set the lower topsail and setting four three-hour watches for the rest of the trip. I went up on deck, but there were enough people and I was frozen, so ended up going to my bunk, taking off wet things, and falling asleep properly.
By the time I went on watch at midnight the weather had begun to calm a little, but it was freezing cold. The bilge pumps helicoptered in had worked a treat, but had been turned off for the night, so we got to stay warm with a couple of short stints on Divine Brown again. Then back to bed.
I woke about 10am the next morning to a much more cheerful ship. Everyone had slept, the chippies were constructing a makeshift galley on deck out of the pitch pot and its small gas canister, the sea was significantly calmer, and Nic and Cubie had retrieved the kettles from the ruins of the galley. Best of all, the kettles worked, so we all had hot drinks followed later by hot food – wraps again, this time with scrambled eggs and tinned spaghetti. It was sunny and warmer and we were actually sailing home.
Had a bit more sleep after watch, but not quite enough – I got up on the call of “food”, only to get caught out passing tin plates of curried fish and couscous to others and having to wait 45 minutes for my portion. Slightly annoying, but my own fault and I really shouldn't have been so grumpy about it. The police launch had arrived by this point and was following off the starboard quarter. Nic was still giggling about their request on arrival that we make sure everyone knew how to use our lifesaving equipment – given that we'd spent most of the previous day in lifejackets it was really a superfluous thing to say.
When we were woken for the night watch it was dead calm. The 9-12 watch had taken in the sails once the wind had died. Despite both the middle and main staysails having small tears in them they had survived the whole trip magnificently. The bilge didn't need pumping and we were keeping a watch forward again. I was able to call my parents at about 2.30am as we approached Whangarei Heads to reassure them everything was okay.
The anchor was dropped early the next morning in the river near the dockyard in Whangarei, and the plywood sealing the forward companionway was taken off with much hammering. The cooks had done a big pan of sausages and rescued some oranges and pineapples, and we feasted in the morning sun while waiting for the Customs man to arrive. In the meantime the boat was launched. Nic drove off and came back with the Customs man, Søren's owners Steve and Rosie, Jim's wife Terri and a long-time friend of the ship, Miranda. We all felt enormously sorry for Steve and Rosie as they sighted the damage for the first time and there were hugs and a few tears as the newcomers came aboard.
While the Customs man did his thing we all got a tour of the outside of the ship from the boat. It was sobering to see the damage, and there was renewed relief that we'd all made it. We went ashore after Customs had left, for a wonderful brunch in a Whangarei café, savouring the coffee and good food. Later on we moved Søren upriver, back to the berth she had recently left after refit, her home until she's ready to leave again.
We were initially very lucky for the wave to hit how and when it did, causing no damage below the waterline and early enough for very few people to be in the deckhouse. The early hour also meant we had the whole day to stabilise the situation. However that everything else went so calmly and smoothly is due to Jim, Nic, and the rest of the crew. Jim led from the front – at the helm for hours, and later on cleaning the heads – and was utterly unflappable throughout. His calmness was passed on down and though I think we were all scared at least some of the time, we all knew what was going on, and we worked together to make sure we were all safe. It wasn't an experience I care to repeat but it's one I'll definitely remember.
Søren's now set for several months of repair in Whangarei, but the shipwrights are talking positively of getting her back to rights. I've hung around for the week, which has been mostly spent cleaning and getting food and other stuff off the ship for storage. We also took down the square sails and all the staysails except the upper staysail – some need repairing and the squares need safe storage. Demolition of the deckhouse began today and there's not much left now. Meanwhile the crew is dissipating, and a whole bunch of people left this morning. It's not the ending we all wanted.
Pictures are on Flickr as usual and I'll be adding more videos tomorrow hopefully.
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